


Five Promises Virgil Didn't Keep And One He'd Rather Die Than Break

by CoralFlowerDaylight (CoralFlower)



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: (the injection is puberty blockers), A few cuss words, Aromantic Asexual Logic | Logan Sanders, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, I Love You, M/M, OMG MY 100TH FANFIC, Optimism, PTSD Logan, Suicidal Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Suicidal Creativity | Roman Sanders, Suicidal Logic | Logan Sanders, THIS IS MY HUNDREDTH WORK ON AO3 THROWS CONFETTI, Trans Male Character, Trans Morality | Patton Sanders, a story about not killing yourself, everyone except pat is suicidal, if you are suicidal i wrote this for you, it is yours. i hope it helps., like four, not romanticized, one brief mention of blood and a brief mention of injections, they meet on a rainy day and virgil's life changes forever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-09-05 02:21:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16801783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoralFlower/pseuds/CoralFlowerDaylight
Summary: “Is Patton your brother?” Roman asks.“My best friend,” Virgil says. “So yeah, basically. He’s 19, we’ve known each other for years. He has his life so together it’s intimidating.”He takes a sip of his lukewarm tea, then asks,“I-- what would you have done if I said I didn’t want you to stop me?”“He would’ve apologised and done it anyway,” Roman says cheerfully. “Just like he did when he found me and called 911 even though I tried to kick him in the nuts.”“Really?” Logan says. “I thought you were aiming for my shins.”---here is a list of suicide hotlines in many countries.





	Five Promises Virgil Didn't Keep And One He'd Rather Die Than Break

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Ephemera](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16525334) by [NKMLN](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NKMLN/pseuds/NKMLN). 



> [here is a list of suicide hotlines in many countries.](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_suicide_crisis_lines)
> 
> In the beginning, Roman has some dialogue that sounds a little bit like he's romanticising suicide, but that's not what it is and there's a reason he says the things he does.
> 
> I didn't cry while writing this, but I'm crying now that I'm posting it. I was suicidal in august of 2017 but never made a real plan. February 24th, 2018 was the last time I seriously considered it, but I didn't have a plan then either.
> 
> This fic would not exist if it weren't for Ephemera by NKMLN, which unlocked my repressed memories of what it feels like to be suicidal and has some really creative Virgil angst with a happy ending. I recommend reading it!
> 
> WARNING in case it wasn't clear: This fic has very frank and unapologetic discussions of suicide, suicide attempts, and suicide methods. There is no death or graphic injury. A few specific warnings are in the tags.
> 
> Lol, this is my 100th work on AO3, but it's the first time I've used this kind of title. I can't believe it! Also check out my [Analogical/Roality/Sleepceit novel](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16565252/chapters/38814320) (yes, I hit 50K words, yes, I will post the last 25K before the end of the year. I'm posting chapter 4 later today!)

Shaky hands.

The rain drips down Virgil’s wrists. It is very cold. The coat he is wearing is too big for him and for a moment he feels bad for taking it-- but Patton refused to hear a no with Virgil heading out into the rain.

Shaky, shaky hands.

It is february, and there is week-old snow on the ground. Virgil’s sneakers are soaked through. They’ll take days to dry all the way-- but that doesn’t matter. He won’t need them dry.

Virgil’s hands are so cold he can’t feel his fingers and he feels more dead than he ever has before.

Last august... He was suicidal last august. He thought it was his lowest point.

No.

He asked for help then. This time, he couldn’t even open his mouth.

He trudges along the sidewalk on his way to die-- do it somewhere a kid won’t find your body-- someone, running around a corner, slams into him.

“Hey!” Virgil says. He’s crying, but because of the rain no one can tell. “Watch where you’re fucking going.”

“Sorry,” says the guy. He’s in a red hoodie that isn’t quite drenched yet. “Woah, are you alright?”

And Virgil sees no reason to lie to a stranger. There’ll be no real embarrassment however the stranger reacts, no investment in not making him worry like Virgil feels with Patton.

“I’m actually on my way to kill myself,” Virgil says, with a crooked smile. “I would’ve done it back in august, but asking for help was way easier then. My friends stopped me.”

The guy has just enough time to look worried before someone calls out,

“Roman!”

Roman and Virgil look over.

“Hey, Lo,” Roman says, and the guy-- this one has an umbrella-- stalks over. “Do you have that suicide hotline?”

Virgil would cry with relief, except he’s already crying.

“Not with me. Why? Are you--”

“I’m on my way to kill myself,” Virgil says again. “God, that’s way easier to say to people I don’t know. Yeah. I’m gonna kill myself. There’s a field right behind--”

Roman grabs Virgil’s hand.

“Jeez, you’re cold,” he says. “How long have you been walking?”

“Twenty minutes,” Virgil says. “I’m expected back in ten, and it’ll take me up to three to die, I’ve researched it. So I have to get to the field by-- within ten minutes from now, or somebody might stop me.”

Roman and Lo make eye contact; Virgil sees, and for a moment he feels sick-- it’s the eye contact people make when they don’t know what to do with you, when they think you’re-- but then Roman’s expression turns scared, and he turns to Virgil.

“I had a plan like that a few years ago,” he says, and Virgil raises his eyebrows.

“You?” he says dubiously. “But you’re like, hot. And your clothes fit.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Roman says. “You’re talking about the field behind the old post office, right?”

Virgil nods, and Roman nods back.

“I was gonna die there,” he says. “In the springtime. Right before the violets bloomed, so I wouldn’t bleed on them, but they’d still decorate me once I was gone.”

“That’s beautiful,” Virgil says, and Roman frowns.

“You should consider it,” he says. “Spring is the most beautiful season to die. You’d be comfortable while you did it.”

“I wanted Halloween,” Virgil admits, fidgeting with the edge of his sleeve. “It would’ve been-- nice. In the woods, at the top of a hill-- but then I spoke up. I’m not allowed in the woods anymore.”

“You could still do Halloween,” Roman says. “If you wait a little longer. It’s not quite as close as spring, but still, it’s only, what, eight months? That’s nothing.”

Virgil shrugs.

“I should get going,” he says. “I’m running out of time to pull this off.”

“No you aren’t,” says Roman. “You have all the time in the world.”

Virgil opens his mouth to contradict him, but the other guy interrupts.

“I’m Logan,” he says. “What’s your name?”

“Virgil,” Virgil says. “I gotta go--”

“We’ll go with you,” Logan says, stepping in close to hold the umbrella over all three of them. “Dying alone is just about the saddest thing I can think of.”

“You aren’t stopping me,” Virgil says, disbelieving.

“Do you want us to?” Logan asks.

Virgil bites his lip. His hands shake. Water drips down his ankles and into his socks. He nods.

“Alright,” Logan says. “You should know that suicide is what a human naturally turns to when its pain exceeds the resources it has to cope with that pain.”

“Did you leave a letter?” Roman asks, putting his arm around Virgil and pulling him in. Virgil shakes his head, and hates himself a little for getting Roman wet.

“Didn’t know what to write,” he says. “Nothing felt right.”

“Of course nothing felt right,” Logan says. “There’s no words you can put in a suicide note to sum things up perfectly. It’s like submitting the summary of your manuscript to a novel competition and expecting to win with just that. That’s why they work best in person.”

“What?” Virgil says.

“Let’s get inside,” says Roman. Virgil wants to protest that he’s fine out here. “I’m getting cold.”

They march him into one of the houses (the houses on this street are all split into two to four units and rented out) and up some stairs, into their apartment, and Virgil drips just inside the door until Roman unzips the coat and pulls it off of him.

“You should change,” he says. “You’ve gotta be freezing.”

“I’m fine,” Virgil mumbles.

“Then you should change so you stop dripping on my carpet,” Roman says gently.

Virgil changes into the clothes they lend him.

“What did you mean about suicide notes working best in person?” he asks Logan, once he’s dry except for his hair and shoes.

“Put your shoes by the door, please,” Logan says, so Virgil does. “It’s because they stop you. You hand them the note and then they wrestle you to the ground and sit on you until you fall asleep. And you get put on antidepressants a few weeks later.”

“I tried that already,” Virgil says. “They don’t work.”

“That’s a shame,” Logan says, completely sincere. “I guess it can’t work for everyone.”

“Why didn’t you?” Virgil says. Roman looks up from a teapot.

“Hm?”

“Kill yourself?”

“I tried,” Roman says. “It was way longer ago than Logan. I was... hm. Fifteen?”

“Yes,” Logan says. “April 14th, 2015. 3:00pm sharp.”

“Jeez,” Roman says, shaking his head. “Of course you know the exact date and time.”

“It didn’t work?” Virgil asks.

“I walked out to the field,” Roman says. “The violets had already bloomed, but I was too impatient to wait for the next year. Too deep in hating myself. So I laid down in the prettiest patch I could find. I was pretty stupid... I thought slitting my wrists would actually kill me, so that’s what I did, and Lo came along and found me.”

“Dumbass,” Logan says, watching Roman with a fond, sappy look on his face. “I’m so glad you’re an idiot.”

“Oh,” says Virgil.

“Here.” Roman sets tea in front of him, and Virgil puts his hands around the mug. It’s warm. “We have sugar too, just let me know if you want some. Can we call anyone for you?”

“How old are you guys?” Virgil asks.

“I’m eighteen,” Roman says. “Lo is seventeen until may. You?”

“Seventeen,” Virgil says. “Until march.”

“Damn,” Roman says. “At least wait until your birthday, you’re so close. Buy a pack of cigarettes just to say you did it, then you can kill yourself.”

“I like the number seventeen,” Virgil murmurs. “It’s better than eighteen. More personality. Sharp and red. Like a rose with Stuart Semple’s Black 2.0 spilled on it.”

Logan purses his lips.

“I don’t like seventeen,” he says. “It’s green for me.”

“That’s disgusting,” Virgil says. “Green, no way. Ew. I’m not talking about my synesthesia with you anymore.”

“Fair enough,” Logan says. “Can we call someone for you?”

Virgil holds the mug tighter. There’s a lump in his throat.

“I’ll text Patton,” he says. “I-- I’m sorry.”

“Please don’t apologise,” Roman says. “I’m glad I could stop you. It would’ve set me back a lot to hear about someone killing themselves in the same place I tried to.”

“Oh,” Virgil says. He gets his phone out.

_Virgil: Hey Pat_

_Patton: capital letters? are you aight?_

_Virgil: I’m good. Alive, and all that. Not in immediate danger._

_Patton: the fact that you’re specifying makes me nervous. is the michaels closed?_

_Virgil: I didn’t go to Michael’s_

_Patton: do i need to come pull you away from the edge of a roof_

_Virgil: I’m not in immediate danger. I’m... I met someone, and I told him I had a plan, and now I’m at his house with tea and wet shoes._

_Patton: you had a plan._

_Virgil: I’m sorry_

_Patton: ill worry about it later. im glad youre alive_

_Virgil: Me too_

_Virgil: I was so scared_

_Virgil: I wanted to tell you but I couldn’t say it_

_Virgil: I’m sorry_

_Patton: i love you. where are you? ill be right there_

“Patton wants to know your address so he can come get me,” Virgil says.

“6968 Fullmont Street,” Roman says with a smirk, and Virgil snorts.

“Nice.”

He texts Patton the address.

“Is Patton your brother?” Roman asks.

“My best friend,” Virgil says. “So yeah, basically. He’s 19, we’ve known each other for years. He has his life so together it’s intimidating.”

He takes a sip of his lukewarm tea, then asks,

“I-- what would you have done if I said I didn’t want you to stop me?”

“He would’ve apologised and done it anyway,” Roman says cheerfully. “Just like he did when he found me and called 911 even though I tried to kick him in the nuts.”

“Really?” Logan says. “I thought you were aiming for my shins.”

Roman rolls his eyes.

“You were much less of a smartass at age fourteen,” he complains.

“It was the blood, not my age,” Logan says. “I don’t remember the exact shape of the stains every time I look at you anymore, so it’s easier to think of snarky things to say to you.”

“Oh my god,” Roman says. “Will you please just tell me every little detail that traumatised you so I can help you work through all of them at once? Please?”

Logan ignores him, and says,

“Can ask you something, Virgil?” Virgil nods. “How were you going to do it?”

Virgil sighs. He bends over to unzip his backpack, pulls out the heavy canister he ordered a couple weeks ago, and sets it on the table.

“What is that?” Roman asks.

“Gas,” Logan says. “Nitrogen?”

Virgil nods, and puts it back in his bag.

“I assume you have some sort of mask as well, then?” Logan says dryly. “Because attempting to breathe directly from that tank would blow your face clean off.”

“Yeah,” Virgil says. His phone rings.

“I think I’m outside,” says Patton as soon as he picks up. “I might’ve sped a little. You promise you’re in one piece?”

“Yeah,” Virgil says. “I-- I’m alive, Pat.”

“God, it’s good to hear your voice,” Patton says.

“Is he here?” Roman asks, and Virgil nods. Logan heads down to let Patton in.

“Logan is gonna let you in,” Virgil says. “I’m really sorry. I. I thought I was better for a while.”

“You didn’t just think it,” Patton tells him. “You _were_ much better for a while. You just got worse again. That’s okay. You can get better again too. I’ll keep helping you. Remember in the middle of october you told me you had been happy for a whole week? That’ll happen again eventually.”

Virgil smiles despite himself.

“It wasn’t really a week,” he says. “It was more like three days. It only felt like a week.”

“Three days is worth living for,” Patton says. “Even an hour is worth living for. You’ll build back up.”

The door opens, and Patton is there, and Virgil hangs up to hug him.

“I’m so glad you’re alive,” Patton says, and Virgil sobs. He’s crying again, and this time there isn’t any rain to disguise it.

“Me too,” he says. “Me too. I was so scared but-- but I-- I couldn’t-- I couldn’t say anything. I wanted to. I promise I wanted to, I promise I tried.”

“I’ll pay more attention from now on,” Patton says. “We’ll figure out what your warning signs are, you won’t get this close again. I promise.”

Once Virgil is all cried out, Patton pulls back just a little.

“Okay,” he says. “So what were you gonna use?”

“Backpack,” Virgil whispers. Roman hands Patton the backpack.

“Nitrogen asphyxiation,” Logan says. Patton peeks into the backpack and frowns.

“Where did you even get this?”

“Online,” Virgil says. “I-- a couple weeks ago.”

“Fucking hell,” Patton says, and Virgil flinches, eyes wide. “Sorry.”

“You know how to cuss?” Virgil asks, and Patton cracks a smile.

“I went through middle school just like everyone else,” he says. “I just rarely curse because then it has more impact when I do. I hope you won’t mind if I take these things from you?”

And this is the hard part. Because Virgil can say whatever he wants-- Patton is going to take them either way.

“I do mind, a little,” he says. “But it’s okay.”

“You can leave it with us,” Roman offers, and Logan levels a sharp look at him from over by a huge bookshelf. “Not to use! Jeez--”

“I would personally prefer it if you took it and disposed of it,” Logan says. “That particular method has always been somewhat difficult for me to decide against, considering the low risk of pain.”

“Can I check the rest of the backpack?” Patton asks, and Virgil nods, but only because there’s nothing else in it. 

“Here,” Logan says, coming over with a very large book. “I knew I had the ‘hot gossip’ about nitrogen asphyxiation in a book somewhere. Your research probably told you it’s painless? Easy? Like falling asleep?”

Virgil nods, looking down at the passage Logan is pointing at.

“I guess it probably is, for most people,” Logan says. “But not everyone.”

The passage is about a woman who began to have violent, terrifying hallucinations after several minutes of breathing pure nitrogen with a slightly leaky mask, and lost her nerve.

“Jesus Christ,” Virgil mutters in disbelief, as he reads her account of the more lasting effects of her attempt: poor short term memory, a significant drop in intelligence, muddled thoughts. The facing page has a list of general long-term effects of temporary oxygen deprivation, including difficulty articulating emotions, speech impediments, and death, the inclusion of which Virgil finds morbidly amusing. “Yikes on fucking bikes, dude, is there seriously no way--”

“There is no perfect way to die,” Logan cuts him off. “There will always be risks. There will always be a chance of it hurting, failing, or both.”

Virgil swallows, intimidated by Logan’s seriousness.

“Oh,” he says.

“Do you want my number?” Roman offers. “You can text or call me whenever, if you need to talk to someone who’s been there.”

“The same goes for me,” Logan adds. “If you need a reminder why a particular method of suicide isn’t ideal, then... hit me up. Did I say that right? Is that what hit me up means?”

Virgil nods.

“Yeah,” he says. “That’s right. Roman...”

“Yes?”

“You... were joking around a lot outside. Why?”

Roman sighs, and leans back against the counter, crossing his arms.

“You mean when I was suggesting times of year that were good for offing yourself?”

Virgil nods. Patton crosses his arms as well, and narrows his eyes at Roman.

“Well, those times are all good because none of them are today.”

Roman smiles.

“I don’t get it,” Patton says.

“You can always kill yourself later,” Roman says. “So why rush? If you plan for Halloween, and then Halloween gets there and you aren’t really feeling it, you can just wait until it’ll be perfect. I rushed on ahead when mine wasn’t perfect and look what happened. Logan found me, got his parents to basically adopt me, they let us move here, and now there’s no knives in the house. And I _miss_ homemade salsa.”

Virgil’s jaw drops. He’s never heard anyone talk about it like this, so matter-of-fact.

“Your sister and her wife send us salsa every summer,” Logan mutters, and Roman elbows him, rolling his eyes. 

“I’ll probably die by suicide someday,” he continues. Virgil sees a fierce look on Logan’s face before it’s covered up by indifference again. “But I’m here right now. I still have all kinds of plans. My brain inserts them into my thoughts whether I ask for them or not. It’s only a matter of time before I try again and it works. But that might be thirty years from now. And forty-eight is a big number.”

“You know I’m not gonna let you kill yourself,” Logan says, so deliberately nonchalant that it betrays more emotion than it would have otherwise, and Roman smiles.

“I know,” he says. “Thank you. I still feel like it’s 50/50 between that and something else. Because the way I feel isn’t going to just go away, and I can be so crafty sometimes that it scares me. But what I’m trying to say is... it doesn’t matter how I die. It’s gonna happen eventually whether I kill myself or not. What does matter is that I’m here right now. The only thing that defines me is what I’m doing with this time. You can _always_ kill yourself later.”

“And if you try, and then change your mind, you can get someone to take you to the hospital,” Logan says. “The only time it’s too late is after your heart stops.”

Virgil looks down at his wet socks, blinking hard. There’s a lump in his throat, and he doesn’t want to cry again.

“I’m sorry, but I still don’t get it,” Patton says. “Thinking about it like that... does it really help you?”

Roman shrugs.

“It’s healthier than I used to be. I figure it might be better than whatever Virgil’s been thinking, or it might not be. I’m still figuring this all out. But yeah, it helps. It keeps me from solidifying my plans too much, or doing it on impulse, knowing I have a whole lifetime of opportunities ahead of me to kill myself. And also to be happy.”

“Roman’s strategy is a lot more jarring to people who aren’t suicidal,” Logan says.

“Yeah, because it sounds like I’m not trying to stop being this way,” Roman says, tapping his fingers on the counter. “I am. I’ll never stop trying. But since it hasn’t worked all the way yet, I need some other way to stop myself. This is what works for me. You might prefer Logan’s method, though, since you seem like the type who doesn’t want it to hurt?”

Virgil hesitates, and nods his head.

“Yeah, I’m a wimp,” he says. “I can’t handle pain. ‘S why I don’t cut.”

“Wonderful,” Logan says, eyes alight with enthusiasm. “I can work with that. Run all your plans by me first, okay? I’ll tell you how likely they actually are to be painless, and between the three of us we’ll get you to your eighteenth birthday at the very least. That’s a promise.”

Virgil wrinkles his nose.

“Then I’d have to wait a year before I could try again,” and he _knows_ that’s a good thing, but a year feels like an awfully long time right now.

“You would? Why?” Logan asks, pouncing on the hint.

“I gotta die on a prime number,” Virgil says. “Or an odd multiple of three. So seventeen is fine, and so is nineteen, twenty-one, or twenty-three. But not eighteen.”

“Well, you should’ve thought of that before you let me run into you,” Roman says with a smile, and Virgil glares.

“You weren’t watching where you were going,” he says. “It’s your fault. Don’t fuckin’ blame me.”

Patton is frowning.

“Why-- why do you care about what age you die at? Like, I’m glad, but...”

Virgil shrugs.

“I just-- there’s good numbers and numbers that are lame and boring, and I’d rather die than-- well-- I just mean I don’t wanna die on one of the lame ones.”

Roman snorts.

“You’d rather die than die at a lame age,” he says.

“Shut up,” Virgil says. “You know what I mean.”

“I like you,” Roman says. “You’re my friend now, okay? Gimme your phone.”

Virgil hands it over and lets Roman put his number in. Roman takes a selfie for the contact photo, then hands Virgil’s phone to Logan, and while they’re doing that, Patton pulls Virgil into another tight hug.

“I really am glad you’re alive,” Patton says. “Seriously. I love you and I care about you. Please tell me before it gets this bad next time. Please talk to me. Even if you don’t think it’s bad enough to worry about, talk to me. You avoid the horrible days by getting help on the iffy ones. If you never speak up until you’re on your way to kill yourself, you’ll just keep getting low enough to want to. I’d rather worry than plan your funeral.”

“Exactly,” Logan says. He taps Roman on the shoulder to make sure he’s paying attention. “This goes for you too, Princey. I’d rather worry about you for my entire life than lose you. And that is my choice to make. Please don’t make it for me.”

“I couldn’t have said it better myself,” Patton says. He smiles at Logan, then puts a hand on Virgil’s shoulder, looking him in the eye. “No matter how big or small your pain is, I want to hear about it. Even if I can’t fix it for you, I want to be there for you, Virgil. You’ve always been there for me.”

“Jeez, sappy much?” Roman says. He’s choked up, though.

Logan rolls his eyes.

“And you call _me_ emotionally constipated,” he grumbles. “Look in a mirror.”

“I-- you want me to-- I don’t know if I can do that,” Virgil says. “Because-- I’d rather die than make you worry about me.”

“I need you to try,” Patton says. “You don’t have to be perfect. But the next time you aren’t feeling good, even if it’s just because they’re out of your preferred soup in the cafeteria, tell me about it. You can start with small things and work your way up. Promise me you’ll try?”

And-- Patton asks for so little. There are only five promises he’s asked for from Virgil, in the whole time they’ve known each other.

Number one: _Don’t let anything grow mold in your room._ He’s broken that one several times, but the fact that he promised has made him clean his room slightly more often than he would have otherwise.

Number two: _Call if you won’t be home before midnight._ He’s broken this one twice because he loses track of time.

Number three: _Drop everything if Patton finds a spider in the house._ He made this one more lightheardly than the others, but he only broke it once when he was too busy wallowing in depression to get up. He feels bad about that; Patton had to kill the spider since he couldn’t bring himself to touch it, and Patton hates killing things. Virgil likes being able to do things for Patton, and taking spiders outside is very easy. He should have just gotten out of bed.

Number four: _Wear a coat when you go outside in the wintertime._ Virgil breaks this one routinely, because he has to walk across the parking lot between several of his classes and most of the time he just doesn’t have the energy or time to put his coat on and zip it up before going outside. But he always keeps it outside of school. He usually pretends that breaking it at school doesn’t count. (He isn’t at school now and he tried to leave without a coat today)

Number five: _Don’t tell anyone. Please don’t tell anyone._ This was the first promise he ever made to Patton, a few months after they met when Virgil was in sixth grade. He was at Patton’s house for a sleepover and accidentally walked in on him giving himself a shot, and Patton sounded so terrified that Virgil promised automatically. The next morning, he woke up before Patton and told his parents, who exchanged glances and said that they knew, and that it was medicine, not drugs. Virgil was relieved. That was the only time he told. A few months later, Patton told him he was trans. He tried very hard to be casual, but Virgil could hear his voice shake. He asked if Patton was actually a girl, then, and Patton shook his head in a panic and said no way. Virgil shrugged and said that was fine, he just wasn’t sure which direction Patton was saying he was trans in. And Patton smiled like Virgil had handed him the world.

“I promise,” Virgil says.

Number six: _Try to tell Patton whenever you feel down._

Starting now.

“I feel like shit,” Virgil says, trying to get it over with. Like ripping off a bandaid. Because this is one promise he’d rather die than break.

“That sucks,” Patton says. “Tell me more?”

He says it so gently, taking Virgil’s hand as he does so, that Virgil feels the stinging at the corners of his eyes that means he’s gonna cry again. He squeezes Patton’s hand.

“I--” and it’s so hard to say, it’s so, so hard-- it’s _impossible_ \-- “wanna die. Things don’t, don’t-- they don’t feel good. It’s worse than august. I said back then, that I only like my life for seven hours out of every day--”

Virgil stops, because his brain stops supplying him with words, and Patton nods.

“Do you want some privacy?” Logan asks, and Virgil shakes his head. He doesn’t think he could say it if Patton was the only person he could look at while he was saying these things. Because-- Patton reacts. He _feels_ , and it shows on his face like ink through tracing paper. Logan is much easier to watch, much easier to speak to, and Roman is chewing on his lips and staring at the floor like he’s not even paying attention.

“Please stay,” he says. “Um-- where was I?”

“You were talking about how many hours you feel okay each day,” Patton says, and Virgil makes the mistake of looking over at him.

He looks away, but the damage is done. There’s a rock in his throat, clogging up the words. He can only whisper.

“Three,” Virgil says.

“Oh,” Patton says, and he starts to say more, but Virgil cuts him off.

“Please don’t-- don’t say anything,” he says. “Please don’t remind me how I’m hurting you, I can’t-- I hate it, I hate doing it. I’m trying.”

“Alright,” Patton says, and Virgil takes a deep breath.

“Two weeks ago when I had a good day, a day with enough energy to count how long I felt fine, and order the supplies, it was three. I’m pretty sure it’s less now, usually. It was less for a long while before then. Today it was four so far, but-- that just meant-- meant I had to do it. You know,” he says to Logan, voice rising a little in pitch as he tries not to let a sob interrupt him. “You know how it is.”

Logan nods, still wearing that straight face, that neutral mask, and Virgil is grateful for it. It makes everything easier.

“I don’t get it,” Patton whispers.

“When you have slightly better days, you also have enough energy to kill yourself,” Logan explains. “It’s why a possible side effect of antidepressants is suicide, because if they work, when you first go on them you aren’t used to feeling better yet, but you suddenly have the energy to go through with whatever you’ve planned. So you feel like you have to, because-- when you’re that used to feeling bad, you know that good days don’t last, and it might be your only chance for weeks.”

“Oh,” Patton says.

“Yeah,” says Virgil. “But-- things are really bad right now. I really did try to speak up. I couldn’t ever think of what to say, or when I could think of what to say I couldn’t say it. This morning I woke up and knew I’d be able to get up really easy today but I laid there for two hours telling myself to tell you, telling myself to just-- grab my phone, and text you that I had a plan and a place and everything, but-- it didn’t work. I couldn’t do anything.”

Logan bites his lip, frowning, and Virgil worries, worries, worries. Logan sees, and turns around to face the cabinets, leaning on the counter with his head in his hands, so Virgil looks to Roman and starts speaking to him instead.

“And I felt so dumb, so stupid, for lounging in bed even though I felt okay enough to get up, and I hated myself for wasting two whole hours of a good day, and I-- I wanted to do _something_. So I decided today would be the day. It’s especially good because it’s february twenty-fourth, so the date is two hundred twenty-four and that’s thirty-two times seven, and I like seven-- anyway. I just-- I wanted to do _something_. To prove I could even do anything. Because I couldn’t tell you. I couldn’t say anything even on the best day I’ve had since december. And-- through the rest of the day I just got more sure.”

Patton squeezes his hand, and Virgil’s voice breaks when he goes on.

“It was-- it would’ve been a perfect last day. Or not perfect, but it would’ve been _good_ enough. Four hours. I got up and helped you make breakfast and you smiled at me, you hugged me, and I could hug you back and mean it, not just pretend, and I was just-- glad I was alive, glad I could do something. I felt really guilty at first, but you didn’t say anything today about how proud you were that I was getting better, so I could ignore it enough to feel okay anyway. And after breakfast I put my own dishes in the sink, and I took a shower, I even had the energy to redo my hair dye! I wrote half of an essay even though I didn’t plan to turn it in, because I was just-- I didn’t want to stop doing things! I did so many things today. Four hours of things. Four hours is a whole life, it’s-- incredible. So when you needed something from Michael’s, I decided-- I shouldn’t push my luck. Because the last time I had a good day I got so focussed on doing things that weren’t killing myself that I used all my energy before I remembered I was suicidal, and then I spent the rest of the day wallowing in self-pity in my room wishing I could get the hell up and just off myself already. So today I decided four hours was enough, because the walk to Michael’s was long enough to let me get to the field and die before you would expect me back. I decided on the field when I was feeling less horrible because it’s a thirty minute walk and I wanted to make it as hard as possible, but I guess I didn’t make it hard enough. I’m sorry.”

Virgil hears Patton sniffle, and his heart sinks.

“I’m sorry,” he says again. “I’m really, really sorry. I--”

“Look at me,” Patton says, and Virgil hunches his shoulders. He doesn’t want to look, because he can tell Patton is crying. “Please, Virgil.”

Virgil looks. Patton smiles, tears in his eyes and running down his face like rain.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“Thank you for telling me all of that,” Patton says. “I know it was hard. You did a good job. I’m really proud of you.”

Virgil was going to cry anyway, just because Patton’s crying, but now he’s going to ugly cry and his nose is going to run and his eyes are gonna get all puffy.

“I love you,” he says, leaning into Patton and shutting his eyes. “Thank you so much for-- for everything.”

“You deserve it,” Patton says, patting him on the back, and Virgil sobs.

Promise number six: _Patton is here for you. Don’t forget that. Do whatever you can to help yourself. Tell him everything you can force yourself to say. It is not too much. He wants to know. He loves you. He wants to help you._

Virgil repeats the promise to himself like a bassline: _Talk to Patton._

“I still feel good enough to do-- anything,” Virgil says. “We could watch a movie or climb trees or build a slushman out of the wet gross snow on the side of the road.”

“You don’t have gloves,” Patton says. “So you aren’t allowed to touch the snow. And it’s raining, so honestly, anything outdoors is out of the running. How about you work some more on that essay? I’ll sit with you and tell dumb jokes whenever you zone out, and if you stop being able to focus anymore we can do something else.”

“Okay,” Virgil says, because he _is_ running out of energy-- he can feel it leaving him, like warmth when you walk outside wearing no coat on a still winter night-- and he doesn’t want to waste any more of it coming up with ideas for things to do.

“Good luck on your essay,” Logan says. He hands Virgil’s phone back. “I’ve set up a group chat with us. I hope you don’t mind, I just didn’t want to make you use spoons on it.”

“Spoons?”

“It’s an analogy for energy,” Logan says. “I’ll text you a link to the explanation.”

“Okay,” Virgil says, even though he knows he probably won’t read it. “Um. Thank you. Thank you a lot.”

“It was our pleasure,” Roman says. “Don’t forget your wet clothes. We can have a sleepover soon for you to give back those ones, how does that sound?”

Virgil shrugs. It doesn’t sound horrible. Roman and Logan are easy to be around-- they both talk about suicide like it’s any other topic, like it’s not something that has to be secret and shameful. Not like some people he’s seen online, talking about how they want to die on a rainy day because then the sky is crying for them, or some other poetic bullshit-- Virgil _knows_ it’s bullshit, now, and suddenly the thought of dying in the rain sounds like the loneliest, most pathetic shit he could ever do, and not in a pretty poetic way, just in a painful way. It’s like, both of them know how it feels to want every bad thought to be poetry, but they don’t pretend it’s good to be that way. They’re alright with acknowledging that the way they think is messed up sometimes. They don’t have to make any of it beautiful.

And Roman is never going to tell him to stop being suicidal. He’s just going to remind him that he can kill himself whenever-- so it doesn’t have to be today. Logan is never going to beg him not to do it, he’s just going to explain why Virgil shouldn’t do it like _that_. And if Virgil tries to do it anyway, Logan will apologise and then proceed to make sure he can’t.

“That sounds good,” Virgil says.

“What’s your strategy?” Logan asks. “Roman waits, I research obsessively, what have you been doing up until now?”

“It’s sorta stupid,” Virgil mumbles.

“I highly doubt that.”

“I have a to-do list,” Virgil says. “Not written down, just in my head. If I have enough energy to kill myself, I have to do a bunch of other things first. Usually it wears me out before I finish the list, and then I’m stuck being alive for the rest of the day. Stuff like shower, brush my teeth, eat two meals a few hours apart from each other, clean up after myself... I did all of it today, though.”

“Can you write down that list for me?” Patton asks. “Or just tell me the whole thing, and I can write it down.”

“Okay,” Virgil says. He knows exactly why Patton wants the list, but-- he doesn’t really mind. He’s relieved about it.

“That sounds like a good one, though,” Logan says. “You came up with it yourself?”

Virgil nods.

“That’s a really good idea,” Roman says. “Logan’s totally gonna steal it, he’s got that look in his eye.”

Logan shoots a dirty look at Roman.

“It’s not stealing, Roman,” he says. “I’m just going to use it. It’s good. Especially if I tell you my list and include some things I don’t usually want or need to do. Then you have a warning for if I’m trying to do it. I think this is going to help me a lot, Virgil, thank you for sharing it with me.”

Virgil feels tears welling up in his eyes again-- he didn’t even have enough time to start feeling guilty for making them help him.

“It’s no problem,” he says. “I’m just-- I’m glad I could help you. You really think it’s a good strategy?”

“Yes,” Logan says. “Any strategy that works at all is good, and yours has the potential to be very powerful if you tell Patton your whole list and then don’t change it afterwards.”

“It’s been the same since last may,” Virgil says, and Patton sucks in a breath. Oops. Patton didn’t know it started that soon. “I can’t change it now.”

“May,” Patton says. Virgil sighs.

“Yeah,” he says. “May. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Patton says. “You just-- caught me off guard.”

“Sorry.”

“Let me know when you think you’ve found a better way to kill yourself,” Logan says. “I’ll be glad to disillusion you. They all suck.”

Virgil cracks a smile, and nods.

“I will,” he says.

Roman sticks his hand out for Patton to shake.

“You seem like a very good big brother, Patton,” he says, and Virgil’s face flushes.

“What?”

“I asked if you were Virgil’s brother, and he said that you’re his best friend but it’s basically the same thing.”

Virgil wants to hide beneath a doormat and never come out, but the brightness of Patton’s smile makes it a little bit easier to bear the embarrassment.

In the car once they leave, Patton is still smiling.

“You really think of me like a brother?” he says, and Virgil sighs, wishing Logan and Roman could’ve lent him a hoodie, because he’d really like to hide.

“You’re annoying enough to be one,” he says, and Patton laughs, not even slightly offended.

“Well, I’m glad the brotherly feeling is mutual,” he says, and Virgil’s eyes widen.

“Oh,” he says. He smiles.

Things feel okay right now, and he can tell he’s running out of happy time, but-- that doesn’t matter. He won’t let that ruin it for him.

“I don’t wanna do my essay, let’s watch a movie instead,” he says, and Patton sighs.

“Okay,” he says. “What movie?”

Virgil didn’t think that far ahead.

“I dunno, you pick.”

“The Princess Bride,” Patton says, without even thinking about it, and Virgil nods. A little slightly-alive representation sounds like exactly what he needs.

**Author's Note:**

> seriously i love you, i don't have much else to say, i hope you liked it. feel free to comment and i hope you find supportive people, you deserve it.
> 
> please do not isolate yourself. there are people who care about you, and they would rather worry about you than lose you. i promise. i promise people would miss you. i promise you are worth it.
> 
> [here](https://twitter.com/coralflower_ao3/status/1069071984661794816?s=19) is the moodboard I made for this fic. I took all the photos myself!


End file.
